Ezeweb life advice
The easy Web way to ease your way to a better life

Does your life seem full of problems?
Grab this opportunity to start making them go away'

Tales from the 'life is like this' collection

PARTY POLITICS

Been to a child's birthday party lately?
You remember. the kind where kids got to grips with sandwiches, sausage rolls, jelly and ice cream, played blind man's buff and postman's knock and end up in a sweaty heap in someone's front room?
No? Well don't bother, that era has long gone.
Children's parties are not what they used to be. Out is the old family get-together and a few selected friends for tea. In is a virtual re-enactment of school sports day under cover, (usually in a church hall or community centre and held by two sets of parents to cut costs). The party, structured like a work meeting - is organised throughout, beautifully directed, and pleasantly impersonal.
At least the trend is away from the pricey hired entertainment and exclusive venues (which until the credit crunch were absolutely de rigeur). Obvious thrift is the new must have. Recently, I attended one such village hall bash. The event was shared between two sets of parents. one of them family, and another couple we didn't know and whom we never got to know because introductions were never made. Perhaps acquainting people formally nowadays is regarded as unnecessary vulgarity?

But I digress.
We sat watching our kids organising their kids in gladiatorial combat on the floor. At one point above the hubbub another grown- up signalled tea. Just the thing, a nice reviving cuppa. but no, this was not an offer, just an invitation to go and help get tea ready. Ready for the twenty kids rampaging about whilst their mothers sat around talking. (Who stays for two precious hours when the kids are off your hands anyway?).
Not that I mind shoving a few bits of food on a plate. I've done oodles of it in my time - but how much nicer to have been approached about my presumed task before the actual event. It's considerate, it's manners.

My heart sank when I saw the stuff on offer - bags of potato rings, tubs of soap-tasting supermarket sausages, rubbery mini scotch eggs and chocolate fingers. Worst of all were huge polythene boxes full of carrot and cucumber chunks and tiny bunches of grapes. Oh so healthy! But what's the point of party fare if it ain't party-fare?
The poor kids are fed vitamin rich raw deals 24/7 to regulate bowels and enhance intellect - so what about giving them a day off once a year?

We apportioned out the tucker on trestle tables and the guests were called to eat.
Not that the food looked inviting. Inevitably the ready mini-eggs and sausages were first picks.
Nice, fatty, chemical ridden junk. Out go the old nasty jellies and sandwiches, in comes much worse. And what price the lumps of veg. which sat forlornly untouched in their containers? After a few biscuits the kids were done.

In the midst of clearing debris from the trestles, we were asked to make tea and coffee for the chatty parents still sitting around the perimeter of the hall. What? What?
But no time to argue - though instructions as to who took sugar/milk etc and who didn't - fell on deaf ears. Sorry, tray on the table and a help yourself to sugar from a pot. Chacun à son goût!
I clapped my hands over the hubbub and called the mummies over. Teatime! One or two looked at me in surprised bewilderment and resumed chatting - whereupon my relative intervened.
No! No! What was I doing? He would serve them, of course. I railed. what on earth for? Couldn't they make one small step for mankind and come to the table under their own steam?
We exchanged a few words before I retreated back to my chores.

Soon it was time for the birthday cake, or should I say cakes to be cut. (There were two Birthday Boys). These train shaped sponges were home made and excellent - no complaints there. As we began doling out the slices, a sheepish little girl was brought into the kitchen.
Poppy was allergic to nuts. Did the cake have nuts in? No - definitely not. (What self - respecting parent would concoct anything containing those little nuggets of poison these days?). But then amazingly, a further serious question was asked. Did I think the cake ingredients themselves were adulterated? Yes, we could all vouch for the fact that the cake preparation was not within a mile of a nut , but what about the flour?
The flour?
I made a judgement, and God help my if I was wrong, I ruled it to be safe. After all, the flour was produced in a mill specifically for that purpose - not in a nuttery - and with my blessing, Poppy got her cake. (I did however keep an eye on her as this was my call if litigation had loomed).

Suddenly, it was all over. The hall was only booked for two hours, and the real rush to restore the hall to its former glory started.
Black polythene bags appeared from nowhere as we all attempted to sort and stow away recyclable material in the appropriate receptacle. (Correct clearing up is now a serious duty, and one to be truly admired if you get it right).
Washing up over, we surveyed the scene. Perfect.
By now, the majority of party-goers had been whisked away by their parents and only the hard core remained.
We had to go, as a long drive home was imminent. I dodged into the loo, applying a dab of lipstick on the way out.
Saying our goodbyes at the door, Birthday Boy screwed up his face. 'Don't want to kiss you - lipstick on!'.
We all laughed, as the car engine started. Great party, all over for another year.

But I can't help wondering what happened to all that chopped up veg....